D’Artagnan had caused the coffer to be brought as far as the king’s ante-chamber.  He then, with great care, closed the door of this ante-chamber, after which he opened the coffer, and said to the general: 

“General, I have a thousand excuses to make to you; my manner of acting has not been worthy of such a man as you, I know very well; but I wished you to take me for the captain of a bark.  And then England is a very inconvenient country for transports.  I hope, therefore, you will take all that into consideration.  But now, general, you are at liberty to get up and walk.”  This said, he cut the bonds which fastened the arms and hands of the general.  The latter got up, and then sat down with the countenance of a man who expects death.  D’Artagnan opened the door of Charles’s study, and said, “Sire, here is your enemy, M. Monk; I promised myself to perform this service for your majesty.  It is done; now order as you please.  M. Monk,” added he, turning towards the prisoner, “you are in the presence of his majesty Charles II., sovereign lord of Great Britain.”

Monk raised towards the prince his coldly stoical look, and replied:  “I know no king of Great Britain; I recognize even here no one worthy of bearing the name of gentleman:  for it is in the name of King Charles II. that an emissary, whom I took for an honest man, came and laid an infamous snare for me.  I have fallen into that snare; so much the worse for me.  Now, you the tempter,” said he to the king; “you the executor,” said he to D’Artagnan; “remember what I am about to say to you:  you have my body, you may kill it, and I advise you to do so, for you shall never have my mind or my will.  And now, ask me not a single word, as from this moment I will not open my mouth even to cry out.  I have said.”

And he pronounced these words with the savage, invincible resolution of the most mortified Puritan.  D’Artagnan looked at his prisoner like a man who knows the value of every word, and who fixes that value according to the accent with which it has been pronounced.

“The fact is,” said he, in a whisper to the king, “the general is an obstinate man; he would not take a mouthful of bread, nor swallow a drop of wine, during the two days of our voyage.  But as from this moment it is your majesty who must decide his fate, I wash my hands of him.”

Monk, erect, pale, and resigned, waited with his eyes fixed and his arms folded.  D’Artagnan turned towards him.  “You will please to understand perfectly,” said he, “that your speech, otherwise very fine, does not suit anybody, not even yourself.  His majesty wished to speak to you, you refused an interview; why, now that you are face to face, that you are here by a force independent of your will, why do you confine yourself to the rigors which I consider useless and absurd?  Speak! what the devil! speak, if only to say ‘No.’”

Monk did not unclose his lips; Monk did not turn his eyes; Monk stroked his mustache with a thoughtful air, which announced that matters were going on badly.